The Only Thing

by Marie Harte

  “You’re nearly as white as I am.” She didn’t find his groaning laughter amusing. “Look. You’re hurting. And my brothers are coming over in about”—she checked her phone—“twenty minutes. So unless you want them to see a complete wuss moaning when he so much as farts, you’ll take a freakin’ pill.”

  He stared at her, wide-eyed. “You said ‘farts.’”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “So…is this a turning point in our fake relationship? Where we can say ‘farts’ but not do it in front of each other?”

  “You are such a pain in the ass.”

  “That’s a yes, then?” He grinned and moaned again, touching his sore lip. “Sorry, baby. I don’t like hurting. I don’t like being weak. And I sure the hell don’t like you seeing it.”

  “Why? If I was in pain, you’d help me, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  She shrugged. “So why is this different?”

  “It just is.”

  She watched him down the pain pill. “I am so glad I wasn’t born with a penis. Having one makes you stupid.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She stared at him on her couch, the ashen man propped up on a pillow, turned to watch some car chase on television. He was so handsome, even beaten and battered, wearing sweatpants and a Jethro Tull T-shirt his father had brought him that for some reason had him cursing his father’s name.

  Sophie and Liam had tried babying him. Hope had to admit she’d loved watching J.T. grow embarrassed at all the attention, especially his father’s. But he’d acted as if he could manage the pain well enough, and they’d left with a promise to return tomorrow. On the way out, Liam had taken her aside and warned her J.T. didn’t do pain well. Boy, was he right.

  Apparently her boyfriend could only take so much pampering.

  And yeah, she meant boyfriend, not preceded by fake or pretend. Tired of trying to lie to herself about what he meant to her, she accepted that she wanted him. The man gave her orgasms, treated her like gold, and had taken a beating he still didn’t blame her for. His family and friends loved him, and he treated people like they mattered. Even ex-girlfriends like Trish who were too pushy to know better. What wasn’t to love?

  Hope had dated a lot of men in her thirty years. And not one had ever been so sweet, sexy, or caring. Or made her feel so much so fast. Taking care of him soothed her. It wasn’t a chore or a need of his to fulfill.

  Now she had to figure out a way to get him to stay and make it seem like his idea. Not one of her better moves, but it beat pining for the doofus for the rest of her life.

  Since he’d taken the pill, she confessed. “I was kidding. My brothers aren’t coming over tonight. They’re coming over tomorrow.”

  J.T. gave her a narrow-eyed stare.

  “Is that supposed to scare me?”

  The glare grew icier. He was turning her on with that attitude. Sadly for him, the bruises made him look more badass.

  She put her hands on her hips and waited.

  He sighed. “You win. Happy now?”

  “No. I’ll be happy when they find the guy responsible for all this.”

  “Stop.”

  She sat on the coffee table and stared at his bruised cheek. “Stop what?”

  “Stop blaming yourself. I should have known not to go.”

  “But you thought it was me.”

  “Well, I should have wondered if it was really you. The note was kind of weird.”

  She sat up straighter. “What do you mean? What exactly did the note say?” He hadn’t been specific before, so she’d thought it a simple case of misdirection.

  “The person claiming to be you might have hinted that you wanted to have sex in the parking lot of Ray’s.”

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  He covered his eyes. “This is embarrassing.”

  “Oh, now I have to know what that note said.”

  “Well, basically it told me not to call, because the note was my only invitation. And that you’d give me a private show, wearing only your black heels.”

  “You thought I’d write something like that?”

  He eased his head back and stared at the ceiling, not meeting her eyes. “Actually, you typed it.”

  “Wait. You thought I’d type up a note telling you to meet me in the parking lot at Ray’s—where I’d only be wearing heels?”

  He groaned. “I know. It makes no sense now. But the note mentioned your black heels, so I thought for sure it was you.”

  She laughed so hard she cried.

  “It’s not that funny,” he snapped. She continued, lost in the hilarity, and he grumbled, “I am injured, you know.”

  When she could contain herself, she wiped her eyes. “Thanks. I needed that. You’re a moron, you know that?”

  “Yes.” He gave her a pitiful look.

  “First of all, if I was going to write a note like that, I’d write it out by hand. Like, jotting you a note. I wouldn’t go back to my computer to type and print it out. Second, I wouldn’t leave it on your car, where anyone could find it. God knows what Suke would do with something like that.”

  He snorted.

  “Third, every woman I know has black heels. It’s a standard thing, like a guy owning a pair of sneakers. But if you’re thinking my ‘admirer’ knew because he saw me wearing them, I guess that’s possible. He would’ve had to see me leaving my apartment or meeting Noelle for my birthday. And since the dance club isn’t one of our regular haunts, he would have had to follow us. I don’t buy it.”

  “Me neither. Maybe he guessed on the shoes.”

  She stared at him, bemused. “So you got jumped because you wanted to meet me for outdoor sex.”

  “Yes. But I was all for the sex because you initiated, not about doing it outside.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  She thought about that. “I initiate sex. Or I would. I just never get a chance because you beat me to it.”

  He gave her a slow smile. “That’s good to know, because I—”

  His phone rang. She handed it to him, and after a moment, he set it on the table. “Okay, Heller. Tell us both. You’re on speaker.”

  “I found your Paulie. He tells me of a man—medium height, slender. Dark hair, dark eyes maybe. This man gives him money. Paulie thought he was probably the actual person behind it, because he was bossy, rude, and adamant about not giving any more until the deed was done. Apparently the bonus for making you feel much pain was to be given after proof of you being broken. Paulie didn’t plan to kill you, but he did think about taking a few of your teeth as proof of a job well done.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  Heller hung up.

  Nice to know J.T.’s molars were worth a pretty penny. He did have straight white teeth, Hope noticed. “The description Heller gave us could fit a few of Cam’s clients, actually. Brad, Joe, and Steven come to mind. They’ve been in during the period this has been going on. What did my brothers say about Greg?” He’d told her that her brothers would look into her ex.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you call them…since they aren’t coming over until tomorrow?”

  She smiled. “Yes, dear.”

  He laughed and gave her a sly smile. “Man, you are like your mom.”

  “Sticks and stones, big guy. Sticks and stones.” She called Landon.

  “Hope? You okay?”

  “Yes. Have you talked to Greg?”

  “Yeah.”

  She put him on speaker. “Okay, now J.T. and I can hear you.”

  “Hey, Landon.” J.T. looked more animated. “What about Greg?”

  “J.T., how are you feeling? I heard you look like shit.”

  “He does,” Hope told him. “Now—Greg?”

  “Right. So Numbnut
s had no idea what the hell was going on. He says about a month ago, somebody busts his windshield and leaves a note telling him to leave you alone. So he assumed it was us and came to talk to you. That’s when you kicked his ass at the park.”

  “It had to be my admirer.”

  “Yep. But it’s odd. The inconsistency of when the guy is sending you gifts and having J.T. beat down. I mean, it’s not happening often enough to tie this guy to an actual suspect. Like, if every time the pizza guy showed up, you got flowers, we’d know it’s him.”

  “According to J.T.’s. friend, who talked to one of the guys who beat up J.T., he—”

  J.T. interrupted. “Okay, hold on. I was not beaten up. I was sucker punched, managed to kick two guys’ asses, then Heller helped. Okay?”

  “Sure, man.” Landon sounded amused.

  J.T. heard it, because he glared at the phone. “Asshole.”

  Landon laughed.

  “The point,” Hope reiterated, “is that the person who hired them could match the description of a few of Cam’s clients.”

  “If we could get the guy to see some pictures, maybe he could confirm who it was. Think he’d tell us?”

  J.T. nodded. “Yeah, if Heller asks, Paulie will tell him anything my boy wants to know.”

  “Great. But I think at this point we want the police in on this,” Landon said. “J.T., you’ve got broken ribs. Yeah, okay, you can take care of yourself. If that had happened to Hope…”

  “I know.” J.T. looked at her, and she saw fear in his eyes. “I know someone who can help. At this point, if I go the cops, they’ll want details. And I can tell you no one at Ray’s saw anything. Heller sure won’t talk to the cops. Not with all the dirt on him.”

  Hope blinked. “On Heller?”

  “Nothing that could stick,” he tried to reassure her. “Anyway, it’s probably best we handle this ourselves. Catch the guy in the act so we have proof, not just what we think he did. It’ll play better for the cops.”

  “Well, let me know if you need help,” Landon said. “I know some people too.”

  “Yeah, but your people would be more interested in putting my kind of people in jail.”

  Landon growled, “Somehow, that doesn’t inspire confidence in your ability to protect my sister, Webster.”

  “It should,” Hope said. “His friends carry all sorts of illegal weapons.”

  “What—”

  “Gotta go.” Hope hung up. “He’s such a brat. Born first and thinks he knows everything.” She saw J.T. trying not to grin.

  “Stop making me laugh. My mouth hurts.”

  She leaned over to kiss it better. And he turned and took the kiss full on the mouth when she’d meant to kiss the cut on the side. She kept it light and stroked his uninjured cheek. “I really am sorry you got hurt.”

  “I know.” He sighed. “You smell good.”

  Staring down at him, she thought about what might have happened if Heller hadn’t stopped by when he had. What if the guys had permanently injured J.T.? Or, worse, killed him? Yes, she wanted to keep J.T. To marry him and live out her own happily ever after. But she knew better than most that the fantasy never lived up to the reality. And how fair was it to coerce the guy into being not only her fake boyfriend, but a real fiancé? One who might not make it to an I do because of her problem?

  Guilt didn’t feel good, and neither did the notion she’d been really selfish with J.T.

  “Hey, what’s that look?”

  She didn’t want to give him up. But didn’t real love mean sacrifice? If she truly wanted what was best for him, maybe being safe, far away from her, was better. And she’d start by distancing herself emotionally, so that after he’d healed, he could go his own way.

  “You should rest.” She smiled, and before she could tear up, she stood. “I’ve got a few things to email to Cam since I’m not going in tomorrow. I’ll be in the office getting it done, okay?” She grabbed him a bowl of ice cream, then kissed him on the forehead.

  “What, am I two?” he joked.

  Man, she didn’t want to let him go. No more teasing, no more J.T. smiles. No more holding hands or hot, sweaty sex all over the place. Most of all, she’d miss his laughter and the way he made her feel perfect just as she was.

  “Ha. Funny. Okay, work to do.” She raced down the hall and darted into the bathroom to dry her eyes. She forced herself to stay by her computer for an hour, looking through emails and Facebook.

  Hearing nothing but the TV, she looked in on him and found him asleep. She just watched him, seeing him relaxed. So masculine, so big and present, there on her couch.

  She adjusted the pillow behind his head to make him more comfortable, and he sighed her name.

  She bit her lip and told herself to keep it together. Then she arranged the blanket over him, turned off the television and the lights, and left him alone. She went back to her big bed and slid between the sheets. Alone. Where she belonged.

  * * *

  J.T. didn’t know what the hell had happened, but Hope was acting differently. She was almost manic in her desire to clean the place, keep busy, and generally ignore him.

  Realizing she probably did have a lot to do, and babysitting a grown-ass man had to be low on her list of priorities, he let her be. The guys from Webster’s rolled in a few at a time, and she made herself scarce. Lou raised a brow, looking from her to him, and J.T. shrugged.

  Johnny grinned. J.T. hadn’t seen the guy in forever, since Johnny was apparently too busy with his sexy girlfriend to care about his single friends.

  Wait. Single? Is that what I am? He didn’t feel single. He felt like part of a couple—him and Hope. Committed, monogamous. He tested out the sensation of being locked tight to another person. But not just any person. Hope.

  “Those meds must be good. He’s ignoring me,” Johnny said dryly.

  Lou grinned. “What they got you on? Vicodin? Morphine?”

  “Try Tylenol 3,” J.T. said.

  “Bummer.”

  Johnny stared at J.T.’s face. “Lara is itching to come see you. My pretty little nurse thinks she can help you get better.”

  “You hear that, Hope?” J.T. called out, seeing her pass into the kitchen in one of her mad dashes to “stay out of the way.” “Johnny’s woman wants me.”

  “She can have you,” Hope said as she passed. “You’re not a good patient,” she called from the hallway.

  Lou laughed. “You all high-maintenance, J.T.?”

  “Nah. Not me.” In a lower voice, he told them, “She’s been acting weird since last night. I don’t know why.”

  Johnny looked around, made sure she wasn’t near, and said, “Maybe she’s just worried about you. You could have been seriously hurt.”

  “I know.”

  “Or she could be PMSing. Is she?”

  J.T. blinked. “I, uh, don’t know.” He should know that, shouldn’t he? With as much as he and Hope had been going at it before Monday, he should be aware of her cycle. The timing seemed right…

  Lou gave him a sly grin. “Maybe our friend here isn’t as tight with Hope as he’d like us to think he is. You know, I have a few friends who would seriously like to get to know her better. Good guys who—”

  “Fuck off. You’re giving me a headache.”

  Lou and Johnny shared a grin.

  “Well, we’d better go.” Johnny stood. “Del let us out of the garage because we were coming to check on you. She wants a full report when we get back.”

  Lou nodded. “Yeah, and I have a Chevy to handle. Bastard won’t turn over, and I can’t figure out why.”

  Johnny rolled his eyes. “I swear, you spend a few days with Heller painting, and it’s like you forget how to be a mechanic.”

  “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

  They continued to bicker out the doo
r.

  Hope hurried to the closet and grabbed her purse while stepping into some sandals. “While they’re still here, I’ll walk out with them. So no worries about safety, okay? I’m going to get more ice cream and some milk. We’re out.”

  “Let me give you some money so you—”

  The door slammed. He heard the lock turn.

  Well, then.

  Something was definitely up with Hope. She’d spent more time avoiding talking, looking at, or being near him since last night than she had in the month they’d been dating. As much as he kept trying to remind himself that they were pretend, he knew—in his heart—they weren’t. At least, not on his end.

  But maybe she wanted to cut ties and didn’t know how to tell him. So she started distancing herself now?

  Hope wouldn’t do that, would she? She wasn’t the type to play games. She’d been honest with him from the beginning. She could have led him on and used him to get back at her mom. Instead, she’d asked him for help, then told him to just be himself. No, she liked him. She more than liked him.

  She gave him her trust, her body, her fucking smiles that lit up the room. Special ones she didn’t share with other people. God, he had it so bad for her that even the panic he should have felt at falling for a woman refused to come. Only the notion that he might lose her to some psycho terrified him. He could work out everything else.

  He hoped.

  And the pun wasn’t lost on him.

  He forced himself to get up and walk around, letting his lungs fill and dealing with the pain. He didn’t want to chance an infection setting in, and he refused to be short of breath.

  As he did slow laps in her apartment, feeling like a big hamster in a tiny maze, he wondered at his father’s choice in clothing. Three Jethro Tull T-shirts—that belonged to his father—and sweatpants. How was he supposed to impress Hope looking like a slob with a hankering for the seventies? Like J.T. didn’t know his father was teasing him. Hope hadn’t asked about his fascination with the rock band, though. She’d been doing her best not to look at him.

  He needed to talk to her.

  She knocked at the door.

  Finally. “Hold on.” He moved slowly but with a steady gait. When he looked through the peephole, though, he saw his father. “Dad?” He opened it.